


6 Things that told Mycroft “all hearts are broken” and that “caring is not an advantage.”

by celestialteapot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Lots of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialteapot/pseuds/celestialteapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>6 Things that told Mycroft “all hearts are broken” and that “caring is not an advantage.” Warning for suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	6 Things that told Mycroft “all hearts are broken” and that “caring is not an advantage.”

1) Mycroft is sixteen when he reaches a conclusion. Obvious really. He didn’t know how he hadn’t realised before.   
  
Telling Rupert Watts was, on reflection, a mistake.   
  
Huddling under the duvet he curled against the worst of the pain, tasting the salt of the tears he was trying to suppress as made their way down his face, stinging the bruise he’d tried to hide from mummy. 

  
  
2)  He was nineteen when he told his parents. He’d come up from Cambridge specially. After dinner, he nervously explained to them that he’d met someone and that he’d very much like to introduce him. His father had bristled and sent Sherlock to his room, his mother had gone into the study, slamming the door.

  
“I...I’m not trying to hurt you...mummy, please, open the door.” He rested his head against the polished oak, “I care about you. About him. I want you to know about him... he makes me happy. I thought you would.... Please, mummy...”  
  
The door opened.  
  
“If you cared you would have never done this to me.”  
  
“I--” The door closed.  
  
“I think you should leave.” His father said from behind him and for the last time, Mycroft walked out of the house he had grown up and drove silently away. 

  
  
3)  Mummy died when he was thirty.   
  
He hadn’t been there, he hadn’t even known she’d died - not until Sherlock burst into his office three days after the funeral high on goodness knew what, screaming that he was a callous unfeeling bastard who never cared enough to attend his own mothers funeral.   
  
When security finally hauled his brother away, Mycroft ordered his staff to double check all his messages for the past month and when they couldn’t find anything, he checked himself.   
  
Eventually, he called his father who told him in no uncertain terms that yes, she was dead and  she’d specifically requested that he wasn’t to be present at the funeral.   
  
“I see.” He’d replied, “and when were you going to tell me?”  
  
“If you cared enough, you’d have never broken her heart.” There was a  _click_ and Mycroft was left listening to the dial tone. 

  
  
3)  “What do you want?” Sherlock snapped, walking into his room and finding Mycroft sitting on his only chair.  
  
“You sold your violin.”  
  
“I needed money.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“Fuck off.” Sherlock snorted, dropping down on this bed.   
  
Sighing, Mycroft stood and placed a violin case down next to his brother before letting himself out. 

  
  
4)   
  
I love you x  
  
He smiled at the text message and slipped the phone back into his pocket, turning his attention back to the tedious trade negotiations he was required to be present for. The next morning, he was woken by the shrill ring of his phone. Reaching for it, he frowned at the ‘withheld’ number and answered.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Mycroft Holmes?”  
  
“Speaking.”  
  
“This is DS Farmer, Battersea Police. Do you know a Mr Hiliarie Preswick?”  
  
“Yes, he’s my...” what? lover? partner? “...we’re friends.”  
  
“I’m very sorry to tell you this, Mr Holmes, but Mr Preswick was found dead this morning.”  
  
“H...how?”  
  
“We suspect suicide. Would you be able to identify the body?”  
  
“...Yes.”  
  
  
5)   
  
He stood by Sherlock’s bedside. The third time he’d done so in as many months.  
  
“I can’t do this anymore.” He couldn’t look at his brother. “I can’t watch whilst you kill yourself. You’re my little brother, Sherlock, I love you and I don’t want to have to bury you.”  
  
“Anyone would think you cared, Mycroft.”  
  
“Sherlock--”  
  
“Oh do go away.”  
  
He made it back to the car before breaking down. Anthea leaned forward, asking the driver to “just drive” before resuming her customary position, eyes fixed on her Blackberry and waiting silently whilst Mycroft regained his control.


End file.
